It's been established that I'm a horrible housekeeper. Cleaning has never really been on the top of my priority list. But lately I've been on a cleaning tear. It's like I've been storing up all of the cleaning to-dos on my list and I'm now vomiting them all out in some sick bulimic cleaning binge.
Roxy likes to try and help. She enjoys cleaning up the pieces of cat food that the cats refuse to eat off of the floor. She loves to help me unpack the groceries out of the un-environmentally friendly plastic bags and rip them to shreds. She likes to lay on the warm clothes fresh out of the dryer. She's a regular Hazel on four-legs.
Like most greyhounds, Roxy has a high nesting instinct. She has scratched and clawed holes in many blankets and beds in her short eight months in our home that it is a bit astounding. It doesn't matter how short her nails are. The power of her clawing is the problem. She has to get it just right and when she gets into a zone, you have to do a lot to correct her.
So the other morning while I was working on an article for a client, I could hear Roxy upstairs on our bed. I knew what she was up to. The longer she was up there, the more damage I knew she was doing. When I called her name she appeared at the top of the stairs with that look on her face. You know that look. The, "What? I wasn't doing anything," look. I knew better, so I grabbed my camera and went to investigate.
This is how I had left my bedroom just an hour before:
This is how I found it:
The conclusion: greyhounds do not make good housekeepers.
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